10 terry brooks word void 02 a knight of the word

A Knight of the Word Book of The Word & Void By Terry Brooks Prologue He stands on a hillside south of the city looking back at the carnage A long, grey ribbon of broken highway winds through the green expanse of woods and scrub to where the ruin begins Fires burn among the steel and glass skeletons of the abandoned skyscrapers, flames bright and angry against the washed-out haze of the deeply clouded horizon Smoke rises in long, greasy spirals that stain the air with ash and soot He can hear the crackling of the fires and smell their acrid stench even here That buildings of concrete and iron will burn so fiercely puzzles him It seems they should not burn at all, that nothing short of jackhammers and wrecking balls should be able to bring them down It seems that in this postapocalyptic world of broken lives and fading hopes the buildings should be as enduring as mountains And yet already he can see sections of walls beginning to collapse as the fires spread and consume Rain falls in a steady drizzle, streaking his face He blinks against the dampness in order to see better what is happening He remembers Seattle as being beautiful But that was in another life, when there was still a chance to change the future and he was still a Knight of the Word John Ross closes his eyes momentarily as the screams of the wounded and dying reach out to him The slaughter has been going on for more than six hours, ever since the collapse of the outer defences just after dawn The demons and the once-men have broken through and another of the dwindling bastions still left to free men has fallen On the broad span of the high bridge linking the east and west sections of the city, the combatants surge up against one another in dark knots Small figures tumble from the heights, pinwheeling madly against the glare of the flames as their lives are snuffed out Automatic weapons fire ebbs and flows The armies will fight on through the remainder of the day, but the outcome is already decided By tomorrow the victors will be building slave pens By the day after, the conquered will be discovering how Life can sometimes be worse than death At the edges of the city, down where the highway snakes between the first of the buildings that flank the Duwarnish River, the feeders are beginning to appear They mushroom as if by magic amid the carnage that consumes the city Refugees flee and hunters pursue, and wherever the conflict spreads, the feeders are drawn They are mankind’s vultures, picking clean the bones of human emotion, of shattered lives They are the Word’s creation, an enigmatic part of the equation that defines the balance in all things and requires accountability for human behaviour No one is exempt, no one is spared When madness prevails over reason, when what is darkest and most terrible surfaces, the feeders are there As they are now, he thinks, watching Unseen and unknown, inexplicable in their singlemindedness, they are always there He sees them tearing at the combatants closest to the city’s edges, feeding on the strong emotions generated by the individual struggles of life and death taking place at every quarter, responding instinctively to the impulses that motivate their behaviour They are a force of nature and, as such, a part of nature’s law He hates them for what they are, but he understands the need for what they Something explodes in the centre of the burning city, and a building collapses in a low rumble of stone walls and iron girders He could turn away and look south and see only the green of the hills and the silver glint of the lakes and the sound spread out beneath the snowy majesty of Mount Rainier, but he will not that He will watch until it is finished He notices suddenly the people who surround him There are perhaps several dozen, ragged and hollow-eyed figures slumped down in the midday gloom, faces streaked with rain and ash They stare at him as if expecting something He does not know what it is He is no longer a Knight of the Word He is just an ordinary man He leans on the rune-carved black staff that was once the symbol of his office and the source of his power What they expect of him? An old man approaches, shambling out of the gloom, stick-thin and haggard An arm as brittle as dry wood lifts and points accusingly I know you, he whispers hoarsely Ross shakes his head in denial, confused I know you, the old man repeats Bald and white-bearded, his face is lined with age and by weather and his eyes are a strange milky colour, their focus blurred I was there when you killed him, all those years ago Killed who? Ross cannot make himself speak the words, only mouth them, aware of the eyes of the others who are gathered fixing on him as the old man’s words are heard The old man cocks his head and lets his jaw drop, laughing softly, the sound high and eerie, and with this simple gesture he reveals himself He is unbalanced neither altogether mad nor completely sane, but something in between He lives in a river that flows between two worlds, shifting from one to the other, a leaf caught by the current’s inexorable tug, his destiny beyond his control The Wizard! The old man spits, his voice rising brokenly in the hissing sound of the rain The Wizard of Oz! You are the one who killed him! I saw you! There, in the palace he visited, in the shadow of the Tin Woodman, in the Emerald City! You killed the Wizard! You killed him! You! The worn face crumples and the light in the milky eyes dims Tears flood the old man’s eyes and trickle down his weathered cheeks He whispers, Oh God, it was the end of everything! And Ross remembers then, a jagged-edged, poisonous memory he had thought forever buried, and he knows with a chilling certainty that what the old man tells him is true John Ross opened his eyes to the streetlit darkness and let his memory of the dream fade away Where had the old man been standing, that he could have seen it all? He shook his head The time for memories and the questions they invoked had come and gone He stood in the shadows of a building backed up on Occidental Park in the heart of Pioneer Square, his breath coming in quick, ragged gasps as he fought to draw the cool, autumn night air into his burning lungs He had walked all the way from the Seattle Art Museum, all the way from the centre of downtown Seattle some dozen blocks away Limped, really, since he could not run as normal men could and relied upon a black walnut staff to keep upright when he moved Anger and despair had driven him when muscles had failed Crippled of mind and body and soul, reduced to an empty shell, he had come home to die because dying was all that was left The shade trees of the park loomed in dark formation before him, rising out of cobblestones and concrete, out of bricks and curbing, shadowing the sprawl of benches and trash receptacles and the scattering of homeless and disenfranchised that roamed the city night Some few looked at him as he pushed off the brick wall and came toward them One or two even hesitated before moving away His face was terrible to look upon, all bloodied and scraped, and the clothes that draped his lean body were in tatters Blood leaked from deep rents in the skin of his shoulder and chest, and several of his ribs felt cracked or broken He had the appearance of a man who had risen straight out of Hell, but in truth he was just on his way down Feeders gathered at the edges of his vision, hunchbacked and beacon-eyed, ready to show him the way It was Halloween night, All Hallows’ Eve, and he was about to come face-to-face with the most personal of his demons His mind spun with the implications of this acknowledgement He crossed the stone and concrete open space thinking of greener places and times, of the smell of grass and forest air, lost to him here, gone out of his life as surely as the hopes he had harboured once that he might become a normal man again He had traded what was possible for lies and half truths and convinced himself that what he was doing was right He had failed to listen to the voices that mattered He had failed to heed the warnings that counted He had been betrayed at every turn He stopped momentarily in a pool of streetlight and looked off into the darkened spires of the city The faces and voices came back to him in a rush of sounds and images Simon Lawrence Andrew Wren O’olish Amaneh The Lady and Owain Glyndwr Nest Freemark Stefanie His hands tightened on the staff, and he could feel the power of the magic coursing through the wood beneath his palms Power to preserve Power to destroy The distinction had always seemed a large one, but he thought now that it was impossibly small Was he still, in the ways that mattered, a Knight of the Word? Did he possess courage and strength of will in sufficient measure that they would sustain him in the battle that lay ahead? He could not tell, could not know without putting it to the test By placing himself in harm’s way he would discover how much remained to him of the power that was once his He did not think that it would be enough to save his life, but he hoped that it might be enough to destroy the enemy who had undone him It did not seem too much to ask In truth, it did not seem half enough Somewhere in the distance a siren sounded, shrill and lingering amid the hard-edged noises that rang down the stone and glass corridors of the city’s canyons He took a deep breath and gritted his teeth against the pain that racked his body With slow measured steps, he started forward once more Death followed in his shadow SUNDAY OCTOBER 28 Chapter One It was dawn when she woke, the sky just beginning to brighten in the east, night’s shadows still draping the trunks and limbs of the big shade trees in inky layers She lay quietly for a time, looking through her curtained window as the day advanced, aware of a gradual change in the light that warmed the cool darkness of her bedroom From beneath the covers she listened to the sounds of the morning She could hear birdsong in counterpoint to the fading hum of tires as a car sped down Woodlawn’s blacktop toward the highway She could hear small creaks and mutterings from the old house, some of them so familiar that she remembered them from her childhood She could hear the sound of voices, of Gran and Old Bob, whispering to each other in the kitchen as they drank their morning coffee and waited for her to come out for breakfast But the voices were only in her mind of course Old Bob and Gran were gone Nest Freemark rose to a sitting position, drew up her long legs to her chest, rested her forehead against her knees, and closed her eyes Gone Both of them Gran for five years and Old Bob since May It was hard to believe, even now She wished every day that she could have them back again Even for free minutes Even for five seconds The sounds of the house wrapped her, small and comforting, all part of her nineteen years of life She had always lived in this house, right up to the day she had left for college in September of last year, a freshman on a full ride at one of the most prestigious schools in the country Northwestern University Her grandfather had been so proud, telling her she should remember she had earned the right to attend this school, but the school, in turn, had merited her interest, so both of them should get something out of the bargain He had laughed, his voice low and deep, his strong hands coming about her shoulders to hold her, and she had known, instinctively that he was holding her for Gran, as well Now he was gone, dead of a heart attack three days before the end of her first year, gone in a moment, the doctor said afterward — no pain, no suffering, the way it should be She had come to accept the doctor’s reassurance, but it didn’t make her miss her grandfather any the less With both Gran and Old Bob gone, and her parents gone longer still, she had only herself to rely upon But then, she supposed in a way that had always been so She lifted her head and smiled It was how she had grown up, wasn’t it? Learning to be alone, to be independent, to accept that she would never be like any other child? She ticked off the ways in which she was different, running through them in a familiar litany that helped define and settle the borders of her life She could magic — had been able to magic for a long time It had frightened her at first, confused and troubled her, but she had learned to adapt to the magic’s demands, taught first by Gran, who had once had use of the magic herself, and later by Pick She had learned to control and nurture it, to find a place for it in her life without letting it consume her She had discovered how to maintain the balance within herself in the same way that Pick was always working to maintain the balance in the park Pick, her best friend, was a six-inch-high sylvan, a forest creature who looked for the most part like something a child had made of the discards of a bird’s nest, with body and limbs of twigs and hair and beard of moss Pick was the guardian of Sinnissippi Park, sent to keep in balance the magic that permeated all things and to hold in check the feeders that worked to upset that balance It was a big job for a lone sylvan, as he was fond of saying, and over the years various generations of the Freemark women had helped him Nest was the latest Perhaps she would be the last There was her family, of course Gran had possessed the magic, as had others of the Freemark women before her Not Old Bob, who had struggled all his life to accept that the magic even existed Maybe not her mother, who had died three months after Nest was born and whose life remained an enigma But her father She shook her head at the walls Her father She didn’t like to think of him, but he was a fact of her life, and there was enough time and distance between them now that she could accept what he had been A demon A monster A seducer The killer of both her mother and her grandmother Dead now, destroyed by his own ambition and hate, by Gran’s magic and his own, by Nest’s determination, and by Wraith Wraith She looked out the window in the diminishing shadows and shivered The ways in which she had been different from other children began and ended with Wraith She sighed and shook her head mockingly Enough of that sort of rumination She rose and walked into the bathroom, turned on the shower, let it run hot, and stepped in She stood with her eyes closed and the water streaming over her, lost in the heat and the damp She was nineteen and stood just under five feet ten inches Her honey-coloured hair was still short and curly, but most of her freckles were gone Her green eyes, dominated her smooth, round face Her body was lean and fit She was the best middle-distance runner ever to come out of the state of Illinois and one of the best in history She didn’t think about her talent much, but it was always there, in much the same way as her magic She wondered often if her running ability was tied in some way to her use of the magic There was no obvious connection and even Pick tended to brush the suggestion aside, but she wondered anyway She had been admitted to North-western on a full track-and-field scholarship Her grades were good, but it was her athletic skills that got her in She had won several middle-distance events at last spring’s NCAA track-and-field championships She had already broken several college records and one world In two years the summer Olympics would be held in Melbourne, Australia Nest Freemark was expected to contend for a medal in multiple running events She was expected to win at least one gold She turned off the shower, stepped out onto the mat, grabbed a towel, and dried herself off She tried not to think about the Olympics too often It was too distant in time and too mindboggling to consider She had learned a hard lesson when she was fourteen and her father had revealed himself for what he was Never take anything in your life for granted, always be prepared for radical change Besides, there were more pressing problems just now There was school; she had to earn grades high enough to allow her to continue to train and to compete There was Pick, who was persistent and unending in his demand that she give more of her time and effort to helping him with the park — which seemed silly until she listened to his reasoning And, right at the moment, there was the matter of the house She dressed slowly, thinking of the house, which was the reason she was home this weekend when her time would have been better spent at school, studying With her grandfather’s death, the house and all of its possessions had passed to her She had spent the summer going through it, room by room, closet by closet, cataloguing, boxing, packing, and sorting what would stay and go It was her home, but she was barely there enough to look after it properly and, Pick’s entreaties notwithstanding, she had no real expectation of coming back after graduation to live The realtors, sensing this, had already begun to descend The house and lot were in a prime location She could get a good price if she was to sell The money could be put to good use helping defray her training and competition expenses The real estate market was strong just now, a seller’s market Wasn’t this the right time to act? She had received several offers over the summer, and this past week Allen Kruppert had called from ERA Realty to tender one so ridiculously high that she had agreed to consider it She had come after classes on Friday, skipping track-and-field practice, so that she could meet with Allen on Saturday morning and look over the papers Allen was a rotund, jovial young man, whom she had met on several occasions at church picnics, and he impressed her because he never tried to pressure her into anything where the house was concerned but seemed content just to present his offers and step back The house was not listed, but if she was to make the decision to sell, she knew, she would almost certainly list it with him The papers he had provided on this latest offer sat on the kitchen table where she had left them last night The prospective buyer had already signed The financing was in place All that was needed was her signature and the deal was done She put the papers aside and sat down to eat a bowl of cereal with her orange juice and coffee, her curly hair still damp against her face as golden light spread through the curtained windows and the sun rose over the trees If she signed, her financial concerns for the immediate future would be over Pick, of course, would have a heart attack Which was not a good thing if you were already a hundred and fifty years old She was just finishing the cereal when she heard a knock at the back door She frowned; it was only eight o’clock in the morning, not the time people usually came calling Besides, no one ever used the back door, except She walked from the kitchen down the hall to the porch A shadowy figure stood leaning into the screen, trying to peer inside Couldn’t be, could it? But, as she stepped down to unlatch the screen door, she could already see it was “Hey, Nest,” Robert Keppler said He stood with his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jeans and one tennis shoe bumping nervously against the worn threshold “You going to invite me in or what?” He gave her one of his patented cocky grins and tossed back the shoulder-length blond hair from his angular face She shook her head “I don’t know What are you doing here, anyway?” “You mean like, ‘here at eight o’clock in the morning,’ or like, ‘here in Hopewell as opposed to Palo Alto’? You’re wondering if I was tossed out of school, right?” “Were you?” “Naw Stanford needs me to keep its grade point average high enough to attract similarly brilliant students I was just in the neighbourhood and decided to stop by, share a few laughs, maybe see if you’re in the market for a boyfriend.” He was talking fast and loose to keep up his confidence He glanced past her toward the kitchen “Do I smell coffee? You’re alone, aren’t you? I mean, I’m not interrupting anything, am I?” “Jeez, Robert, you are such a load.” She sighed and stepped back “Come on in.” She beckoned him to follow and led him down the hall The screen door banged shut behind them and she winced, remembering how Gran had hated it when she did that “So what are you really doing here?” she pressed him, gesturing vaguely in the direction of the kitchen table as she reached for the coffee-pot and a cup The coffee steamed in the morning air as she poured it He shrugged, giving her a furtive look “I saw your car, knew you were home, thought I should say hello I know it’s early, but I was afraid I might miss you.” She handed him the coffee and motioned for him to sit down, but he remained standing “I’ve been waiting to hear from you,” she said pointedly “You know me, I don’t like to rush things.” He looked away quickly, unable to meet her steady gaze He sipped gingerly from his cup, then made a face “What is this stuff?” Nest lost her patience “Look, did you come here to insult me, or you need something, or are you just lonely again?” He gave her his hurt puppy look “None of the above.” He glanced down at the real estate papers, which were sitting on the counter next to him, then looked up at her again “I just wanted to see you I didn’t see you all summer, what with you off running over hill and dale and cinder track.” “Robert, don’t start.” “Okay, I know, I know But it’s true I haven’t seen you since your grandfather’s funeral.” “And whose fault is that, you think?” He pushed his glasses further up on his nose and screwed up his mouth “Okay, all right It’s my fault I haven’t seen you because I knew how badly I messed up.” “You were a jerk, Robert.” He flinched as if struck “I didn’t mean anything.” “You didn’t?” A slow flush worked its way up her neck and into her cheeks “My grandfather’s funeral service was barely finished and there You were, making a serious effort to grope me I don’t know what that was all about, but I didn’t appreciate it one bit.” He shook his head rapidly “I wasn’t trying to grope you exactly.” “Yes, you were Exactly You might have done yourself some good, you know, if you’d stuck around to apologise afterward instead of running off.” His laugh was forced “I was running for my life You just about took my head off.” She stared at him, waiting She knew how he felt about her, how he had always felt about her She knew this was difficult for him and she wasn’t making it any easier But his misguided attempt at an intimate relationship was strictly one-sided and she had to put a stop to it now or whatever was left of their friendship would go right out the window He took a deep breath “I made a big mistake, and I’m sorry I guess I just thought you needed that you wanted someone to Well, I just wasn’t thinking, that’s all.” He pushed back his long hair nervously “I’m not so good at stuff like that, and you, well, you know how I feel “ He stopped and looked down at his feet “It was stupid I’m really sorry.” She didn’t say anything, letting him dangle in the wind a little longer, letting him wonder, He looked up at her after a minute, meeting her gaze squarely for the first time “I don’t know what else to say, Nest I’m sorry Are we still friends?” Even though he had grown taller and gotten broader through the shoulders, she still saw him as being fourteen There was a little-boy look and sound to him that she thought he might never entirely escape “Are we?” he pressed She gave him a considering look “Yes, Robert, we are We always will be, I hope But we’re just friends, okay? Don’t try to make it into anything else If you do, you’re just going to make me mad all over again.” He looked doubtful, but nodded anyway “Okay.” He glanced down again at the real estate papers Are you going to sell the house?” “Robert!” “Well, that’s what it looks like.” “I don’t care what it looks like, it’s none of your business!” Irritated at herself for being so abrupt, she added, “Look, I haven’t decided anything yet.” He put his coffee cup in the exact centre of the papers, making a ring “I don’t think you should sell.” She snatched the cup away “Robert…” He smiled at her earnest expression, at the determination he found in her young voice “No, Nest,” he told her quietly “But I want to I need to.” He had left her behind at the museum when he had departed She had gone down the stairs to intercept Simon Lawrence and his companions, to delay them long enough for Ross to slip out a side door so he wouldn’t be seen Even so, in leaving another way besides the main entrance he set off an alarm that brought security guards from the lower level As he crossed the street toward a dark alleyway, he watched them stumble unaccountably in their efforts to navigate the Grand Stairway, Nest studying them intently from her position beside a recovering Simon “For Ariel,” she said firmly “For Boot and Audrey.” He felt a rush of hot shame and anger, the revelations she had provided burning through him in a fresh wave of shock and disbelief But truth has a way of making itself known even to the most sceptical, and he had stripped away the blinders that had kept him deceived and was empowered by his new knowledge and the determination it generated “For myself, John,” she finished But she had not seen herself as he had, back at the museum, in the shadowy confines of the Exhibition Hall, where the two of them had come face-to-face in a confrontation that might have led to the horrific fulfilment of his dream She did not realise yet what she had revealed to him that even she did not know, of the way her magic had evolved, of the secret she now held inside Powerful forces were at work in Nest Freemark that would change her life yet again He should tell her, of course But he could not bring himself to so now, when the secrets of his own life weighed so heavily on his mind and demanded their own resolution He stepped closer to her and put his hands on her shoulders “I am a Knight of the Word, Nest I am what I was always meant to be, and I owe much of that to you But I cannot claim the right to serve if I not resolve first the reason I lost my way I have to that And I have to it alone This is personal to me, so close to the bone that to settle it in any other way would leave me hollowed out Do you see?” She studied his face a long time “But you’re hurt You’ve lost a lot of blood.” He took his hands away from her shoulders and settled them on the polished length of his staff “The magic will give me the strength I need for this.” She shook her head “I don’t like it It’s too dangerous.” He looked at her, thinking it odd that someone so young should speak to him of what was too dangerous But then the dangers in her own life had been, on balance, no less than his “Wait for me here, Nest,” he told her “Keep watch If I don’t came out, at least one other person will know the truth.” He didn’t wait for her response but wheeled away quickly and went down the sidewalk to the corner, turned left along Second, and walked to the apartment entrance Feeders reappeared in droves, creeping over the walls of Waterfall Park, taming up from the gutters and out of the alleyways between the buildings They materialised in such numbers that he experienced an unexpected chill Their yellow eyes were fixed an him, empty of everything but their hunger So many, he mused, He could feel the weight of their expectations in the way they passed forward to be close to him, and he knew they understood with primal instinct what was at stake He entered the foyer, using his key, walked to the elevator, and took it up to the sixth floor The Feeders did not follow He imagined them scaling the outside wall, climbing steadily, relentlessly closer to the windows of his apartment, He envisioned an enormous tidal wave washing toward a sleeping town He exited the elevator ,and moved to his apartment door, used his key again, and entered The apartment was shadowy and silent, with only a single lamp burning at one end of the old couch Stefanie sat reading in the halo of its light, her exquisite face lifting to greet him, her strange, smoky eyes filling with shock as he closed the door and came into the light “John, what happened?” she whispered, rising quickly He put out his hand, a defensive gesture, acid shook his head “Don’t get up, Stef Just stay where you are, please.” He leaned heavily on his staff, studying her perplexed face, the way she brushed back her dark hair, cool and reserved, watchful “Simon Lawrence isn’t dead,” he said quietly He saw a flicker of something dark in her eyes, but her face never changed “What you mean? Why would he be dead? What are you talking about, John?” He shrugged “It’s simple I went to the museum to speak with him He was waiting for me He admitted everything — firing me without giving me a hearing, stealing the money himself, working to destroy Fresh Start, all of it Then he attacked me He overpowered me, threw me down, and walked away When he left, I went after him I wanted to kill him I would have, too, except for Nest Freemark She came back from the airport to warn me It wasn’t Simon Lawrence I was looking for at all, she said.” He paused, watching her carefully “It was you.” She shook her head slowly, a strange little smile playing over her lips “I have no idea what you are talking about.” He nodded indulgently She was so beautiful, but everything about her was a lie “The fact of the matter is, I was ready to believe everything you wanted me to believe That Simon Lawrence was the demon That he was responsible for all the bad things happening That he was intent on ruining my life, on using me, on breaking me down I had convinced myself Then, when you tricked me into coming upstairs at the museum, when you disguised yourself as Simon and attacked me, humiliated me, taunted me, and cast me aside as if I were worthless, I was primed and ready to kill him the moment I found him again And I would have killed him, too, if not for Nest.” “John —” “She told me it was you, Stef, and after I got past the initial shock that such a thing could possibly be, that I could have been fooled so completely, that I could have been so stupid, I began to realise what had happened You were so clever, Stef You used me right from the beginning You let me approach you in Boston, played me like a fish an a line, and then reeled me in I was hooked I loved you You made yourself so desirable and so accessible I couldn’t help myself I wanted to believe you were the beginning, the cornerstone, of a new life I was through being a Knight of the Word; I wanted something else You understood what that something was better than I did, and you gave it to me You gave me the promise of a life with you “But you know, what really made it all work was that I couldn’t imagine it wasn’t real Why would it be anything else? Why wouldn’t you be exactly who you said you were? When Nest first suggested you might be the demon, I dismissed the idea out of hand It made no sense If you were the demon, why wouldn’t you just kill me and be done with it? Of what possible use was I alive? A former knight of the Word, an exile, a wanderer — I was just further proof you had made the right choice a long time ago when you embraced the Void.” She wasn’t saying anything She was Just sitting there, listening attentively, waiting to see if he had really worked it out He could tell it just by looking at her, by the way she was studying him It infuriated him; it made him feel ashamed for the way he had allowed himself to be used “Nest figured it out, though,” he continued “She explained it to me She said you saw me in the same way her father had seen her grandmother, when her grandmother was a young girl Her father was drawn to her grandmother’s magic, and you were drawn to mine But demons need to possess humans, to take control of them in order to make the magic their own, and sometimes they mistake this need to possess for love Their desire for the magic confuses them I think maybe that’s what happened to you.” “John —” “No Don’t say a word to me Just listen,” His Fingers knotted about his staff more tightly “The tact remains, I was no good to you dead Because if I was dead you couldn’t make use of the magic trapped inside the staff And you wanted that magic badly, didn’t you? But to get it, you had to two things You had to find a way to persuade me to recover it from the dark place to which I had consigned it and then to use it in a way that would make me dependent on you If I could be tricked into killing Simon Lawrence, if I could be made to use the magic in such a terribly wrong way, then I would share something in common with you, wouldn’t I? I would have taken the first step down the path you had chosen for me I was halfway there, wasn’t I? I was already very nearly what you wanted me to be You’d worked long and hard to break me down, to give me the identity you wanted Only this one last thing remained.” He shook his head in amazement “You killed that demon in Lincoln Park to protect your investment Because it wanted me dead, so it could claim victory over a Knight of the Word But you wanted me alive for something much grander You wanted me for the magic I might place at your command.” She stared at him, her perfect features composed, still not moving “I love you, John Nothing you’ve said changes that.” “You love me, Stef? Enough that you might teach me to feed on homeless children, like you’ve been feeding on them?” He spit out the words as if they were tinged with poison “Enough that you might let me help you hunt them down in the tunnels beneath the city and kill them?” Her temper flared “The homeless are of no use No one cares what happens to them They serve no real purpose You know that.” “Do I?” He fought down his disgust “Is that why you killed Ariel and Boot and Audrey? Because they didn’t serve any real purpose either? Is that why you tried to kill Nest? That didn’t work out so well, did it? But you were quick to cover up, I’ll give you that Burning down Fresh Start, that was a nice touch I assumed at first that you burned it down just to undermine its programs But you did it to hide the truth about what happened in Lincoln Park You marked yourself up pretty good going after Nest, smashing down doors and hurtling through windows You couldn’t hide that kind of damage So you killed two birds with one stone You’d drugged me earlier so I wouldn’t be able to meet Nest When you woke me, after you’d set fire to Fresh Start, you did so in the dark so I couldn’t see your face, and while I was still barely coherent, you ran on ahead on the pretext of waking the women and children sleeping on the upper floors on the building, thereby providing yourself with a perfect excuse for the cuts and bruises on your face and hands.” His laugh was brittle “It’s funny, but Nest figured that out, too When she came looking for me, she stopped by Pass/Go, and Della told her she looked just like you Nest got the connection immediately She knew what it meant.” She leaned forward “John, will you listen ?” But he was all done listening, and he pushed relentlessly on “So you set me up with this story about Simon firing me, and you quitting, and how strangely he’s been acting, and how every time something bad happens, he’s among the missing, and I’m just like a loaded gun ready to go off I take the bus down to the museum, which you know I’ll do, and it takes me a while because I don’t walk very well with my bad leg, and you catch a cab, and there you are, waiting, disguised as Simon, ready to point me in the right direction.” He was so angry now he could barely contain himself, but his voice stayed cool and detached “I really hate you, Stef I hate you so much I can’t find the wards to express it!” She studied him a moment, her perfect features composed in thoughtful consideration, and then she shook her head at him “You don’t hate me, John You love me You always will.” His shock at hearing her say it left him momentarily speechless He had not expected her to be so perceptive She was right of course He loved her desperately, even now, even knowing what she was “You aren’t as honest with yourself as You think,” she Continued calmly, her dark eyes locking on his own “You don’t want any of this to be so, but even knowing it is, you can’t get around how you feel Is that so bad? If you want me, I’m still yours I still want you, John I still love you Think about what you’re doing If you give me up, you become the thing you fought so hard to escape being You become a Knight of the Word again You give up everything you’ve found this past year with me You go back to being solitary and lonely and rootless You become like the homeless you’ve spent so much time trying to help.” She rose, a smooth, lazy motion, and he tensed in response, remembering how strong she was, what she was capable of doing But she didn’t try to approach him “With me, you have everything that’s made you happy these past twelve months I can be all the things I’ve been to you from the beginning Are you worried you might see me another way? Don’t be You never will I’ll be for you just what you want I’ve made you happy You can’t pretend I haven’t” He smiled at her, suddenly sad beyond anything he had ever known “You’re right,” he acknowledged softly, and all the rage seemed to dissipate “You have made me happy But none of it was real, was it, Stef? It was all a sham I don’t think I want to go back to that.” “Do you think other people live any differently than we do,” she pressed She took a step away from the couch, then another, moving out of the circle of lamplight, edging into the shadows beyond Ross watched, saying nothing “Everyone keeps secrets No one reveals everything Even to a lover.” He winced at the words, but she didn’t seem to notice She brushed back her hair, seemingly distracted by something behind him He kept his eyes on her “We can the same,” she said “You won’t ever find anyone else who feels about you the way I do.” The irony of that last statement must have escaped her entirely, he thought “How you feel about me is rooted mostly in the ways you hope to use me, Stef.” He was moving with her now, a step and then two, a slow circling dance, a positioning for advantage “You can make your own choices about everything, John,” she said “I won’t interfere Just let me the same That’s all I require.” His laugh was brittle “Is that all it would take to make you happy, Stef? For me to ignore what you are? For me to let you go on feeding on humans? For me to pretend I don’t care that you won’t ever stop trying to turn the Word’s magic to uses it was never intended for?” She was shaking her head violently in denial “Just forget about the past? Forget about Boot and Audrey and Ariel and Ray Hapgood and several dozen homeless people? Forget about everything that’s gone before? Would that the trick?” He saw a glimmer of something dark and wicked come into her eyes He took a step toward her “You crossed the line a long time ago, and it’s way too late for you to come back More to the point, I don’t intend to let you try.” She was silhouetted against the bay window that looked down on Waterfall Pack, her slender body gone suddenly still Outside, feeders were pressed against the glass, yellow eyes gleaming There was a subtle shift in her features “Maybe you can’t stop me, John.” He straightened, clasping the staff in both hands, the magic racing up and dawn its length in slender silver threads Her smile was faint and tinged with regret “Maybe you never could.” In a single, fluid motion she dropped into a crouch, wheeled away, and catapulted herself through the plate glass of the window behind her Before he could even think to try to stop her, she had dropped from sight and was gone Nest Freemark was standing an the sidewalk outside Waterfall Pack when the apartment window exploded as if struck by a sledgehammer, raining shards of glass into the night and sending feeders scattering into the shadows like rats She turned toward the sound, her fast thoughts of John Ross, but the dark thing that plummeted through The gleam was screaming in another voice entirely Nest stood frozen in place, watching as it began to twist and re-form in mid-air, as if its flesh and bones were malleable It had been human at first, but now it was something else entirely It struck the Jumble of rocks midpoint on the waterfall, bounced away, and tumbled into the catchment Nest raced for the narrow park entrance, her heartbeat quick and hurried and anxious She burst through the un-gated opening as the dark thing climbed free of the trough, a two-legged horror that was already losing what remained of its human identity, dropping down on all fours and shapeshifting into something more primal Its legs thinned and lengthened and turned croaked, its torso thickened from haunches to chest, and its head grew elongated and broad-muzzled Stefanie Winslow, she thought in horror The demon, re-formed into something that most closely resembled a monstrous hyena, the demon shook itself as if to be rid of the last of the disguise that had confined it and lifted its blunt snout toward the heights from which it had fallen Feeders leaped and scrambled about it in a frenzy, like shadows flowing over one another, eyes bright against the dark The demon snarled at them, snapped at the air through which they passed, and started to turn away Then it caught sight of Nest and wheeled quickly back again Even in the scattered light of the street lamps, Nest could see the hard glitter of its eyes fix on her She could see the hate in them The big head lowered, the muzzle parted, and rows of hooked teeth came into view A low-pitched, ugly snarl rose from its throat Maybe it intended to finish what it had started in Lincoln Park Maybe it was just reacting on instinct Nest held her ground She felt her magic gather and knot in her chest She had fled from this monster once; this time she would stand and face it The demon, it seemed, had made up its mind as well It could have turned away from her, could have scaled the park fence and escaped without forcing a confrontation But it never wavered in its approach In a scrabbling of claws on stone and with a bane-chilling howl, it attacked Feeders converged in its wake, leaping and darting through the shadows in a wave of yellow eyes Nest had only a moment to react, and she did so She locked eyes with the demon and threw out the magic she had been born with, her legacy from the Freemark women, thinking to stun it, to throw it off stride, to cause it to falter She need only delay it long enough for John Ross to reach her He would be coming; the demon was dearly in flight from him A few moments was all she needed, and her magic would give her that She had used it on Simon Lawrence and the security guards at the museum not two hours earlier It was an old and familiar companion, and she could feel its presence stir deep inside even before she called it forth Even so, she wasn’t prepared for what happened next The magic she had called upon did not respond Another magic did It came from the same place as the magic she had been born to, from inside, where her soul resided in a conjoining of heart and mind and body It exploded out of her in a rush of dark energy, taking its own distinctive form, unleashed by instincts that demanded she survive at any cost Its power was raw and terrifying, and she ,could not control it It did not release from her as she had expected” Gut swept her along, borne within its storm-racked centre, and it was as if she were caught inside a whirlwind She was seeing the demon now through darker, more primitive eyes, and she realised suddenly, shockingly, that those eyes belonged to Wraith She was trapped inside the ghost wolf She had become a part of him Then she was hurtling into the demon, with no time left to think Claws and teeth ripped and tore, and snarls filled the air, and she was fighting the demon as if became Wraith, herself grown massive through the shoulders and torso, rough-coated with fur, gimlet-eyed and lupine Back against the racks she drove the demon, steeped in the ghost wolf’s strength and swift reactions The demon twisted and fought, intertwined so closely with her she could feel the bunching of its muscles and hear the hissing of its breath The demon tried to gain a grip on her throat, failed, and leaped away She gave pursuit, a red veil of hot rage and killing need blinding her to everything else They rolled and tumbled through the wrought-iron furniture, against the maze of rocks and fountains, and she no longer thought to wonder what was happening or why, but only to gain an advantage over a foe she knew she must destroy Perhaps she would have succeeded Perhaps she would have prevailed But then she heard her name called A sharp cry, it was filled with despair and anguish John Ross had reached her at last White fire lashed the air in front of her, turning her aside But the fire was not meant for her It struck the demon full on, a rope of searing flame, and threw it backward to land in a bristling heap She caught sight of Ross now, standing just inside the park entrance, his legs braced, the black staff bright with magic Again the fire lanced from the Knight of the Word into the demon, catching it as it tried to twist away, knocking it down once more Ross advanced, his face all planes and sharp edges, etched deep with shadows and grim determination The demon fought back It counterattacked with a stunning burst of speed and fury, snapping at the scorched night air Gut the Word’s magic hammered into it over and over, knocking it back, flinging it away Ross closed the distance between himself and his adversary, ignoring Nest, his concentration centred on the demon The demon wailed suddenly, as if become human again, a cry so desperate and affecting that Nest cringed Ross screamed in response, perhaps to fight against the feelings the cry generated somewhere back in the dark closets of his heart, perhaps simply in fury He went to where the demon lay broken and writhing, a thing barely recognisable by now It was trying to change again, to become something else-perhaps the thing Ross had loved so much But Ross would not allow it The black staff came down, and the magic surged forth, splitting the demon asunder, ripping it from neck to knee Feeders swarmed over it, rending and digging hungrily The winged black thing that formed its twisted soul tried to break free from the carnage, but Ross was waiting With a single sweep of his staff, he sent it spinning into the trailing fire and fading life What remained of the demon collapsed on itself and scattered in the wind Even when the last of its ashes had blown away, John Ross stayed where he was, silhouetted against the shimmer of the waterfall, staring down at the dark smear that marked its passing darkness, a tiny, flaming comet THURSDAY NOVEMBER Chapter Twenty-Five It was a little after ten-thirty the following morning when Andrew Wren walked into the offices of Pass/Go, announced himself to the receptionist, and was told Simon Lawrence would see him He thanked her, advised her that he knew the way, and started back He proceeded down the hall past the classrooms and offices, contemplating a collage of children’s finger paintings that decorated one section of a sun-splashed wall He was dressed in his corduroy jacket with the patches at the elbows and had worn a scarf and gloves against the November chill He carried his old leather briefcase in one hand and a newsboy cap in the other His cherubic face was unshaved, and his hair was uncombed He had overslept and been forced to forgo the niceties of personal grooming and had simply pulled on his clothes and headed out As a result, he looked not altogether different from some of the men standing in the soup line at Union Gospel Mission up the street Rumpled and baggy, he shuffled through the doorway of the Wiz’s cramped office and gave a brief wave of his hand “Got any coffee, Simon?” Simon Lawrence was immersed in paperwork, but he gestated wordlessly toward a chair stacked with books, then picked up the phone to call out to the front desk to fill Wren’s order and one of his own Wren cleared the chair he had been offered and sat dawn heavily “I watched you perform for the assembled last night with something approaching awe Meeting all those people, shaking hands, answering questions, offering prognostications, being pleasant To tell you the truth, I don’t know how you it I couldn’t possibly keep up the kind of pace you and stay sane.” “Well, I don’t it every night, Andrew.” Simon stretched and leaned back in his chair He gave Wren a suspicious look “fm almost afraid to ask, but what brings you by this time?” Wren managed to look put upon “I wanted to see how you were, for one thing No more episodes, I hope?” The other man spread his hands “I still don’t know what happened One moment I was standing there on the stairs, talking with Carole and those workers from Union Gospel, and the next I was down on the floor I just seemed to lose all my strength I’m scheduled to see a doctor about it this afternoon, but I don’t think it’s anything more than stress and a lack of sleep.” Wren nodded “I wouldn’t be surprised Anyway, I also wanted to congratulate you on last night It was a huge success, as you know The gift of the land from the city, the offer of additional funding, the pledges of support from virtually every quarter You should be very pleased about that.” Simon Lawrence sighed, arching one eyebrow About that, yes, I’m very pleased It helps take the edge off a few of the less pleasant aspects of the day’s events.” “Hmmm,” Wren murmured solemnly “Speaking of which, have you seen her today?” Simon didn’t have to ask who he was referring to “No, and I don’t think I’m going to Not today or any other I went by her apartment early this morning, thinking I might surprise her with the news, but she was gone Her clothes, luggage, personal effects, everything The door to the apartment was wide open, so I had no trouble getting in At first I thought something might have happened to her A chair had been thrown through the living room window It was lying down in the park with pieces of glass all over the place But nothing else in the apartment seemed disturbed There was no sign of any kind of violence having occurred I called the police anyway.” Wren studied him thoughtfully “Do you think she suspected we were onto her?” Simon shook his head “I don’t see how You and I were the only ones who knew the lab resultsand I didn’t know until after the dedication, when you told me “He paused, reflecting “I tell you, Andrew, Id never have guessed it was her Not in a million years Stefanie Winslow I still can’t believe it.” “Well, the handwriting analysis of the signatures on the deposit slips were pretty conclusive.” Wren paused “Why you think she did it, Simon?” Simon Lawrence shrugged “I can’t begin to answer that question You’ll have to ask her, if she ever resurfaces from wherever she’s gone to ground.” “Maybe John Ross can tell us something.” Simon pursed his lips sourly “He’s gone, too He left this It was on my desk when I came into work this morning, tucked into an envelope.” He reached into his desk and produced a single sheet of white paper with a handwritten note He handed it to Wren, who pushed up his glasses on the bridge of his nose and began to read Dear Simon I regret that I am unable to deliver this in person, but by the time you read it I will already be far away Please not think badly of me for not staying I am not responsible for the thefts that occurred at Fresh Start Stefanie Winslow is I wish I could tell you why As it is I feel that even though all the money will be returned, my continued involvement with your programs will simply complicate matters I will not forget the cause you have championed so successfully and will endeavour in some small way to carry on your work wherever I go I am enclosing a letter authorising transfer back to Fresh Start of all funds improperly deposited to my accounts John Wren looked up speculatively “Well, well.” The coffee arrived, delivered by a young volunteer, and the two men accepted the cups and sat sipping at the hot brew in the silence that followed the intern’s departure “I think he was as fooled as the rest of us,” the Wiz said finally Wren nodded “Could be Anyway, there’s no one left who can tell us now, is there?” Simon put down his coffee cup and sighed “If you want to have dinner tonight, I can try to fill you in on the details of this mess so you can keep your article for the Times as accurate as possible.” Wren smiled, relinquished his own cup, and rose to his feet “I can’t that, Simon I’m flying out this afternoon, back to the Big Apple Besides, the article’s already written I finished it at two this morning or something like that.” The Wiz looked confused “But what about…?” Wren held up one chubby hand, assuming his most professional look “Did you get all the money transferred back to Fresh Start out of Ross’s accounts?” Simon nodded “And your own?” Simon nodded again “First thing this morning.” “Then it’s a story with a happy ending, and I think we ought to leave it at that No one wants to read about a theft of charitable funds where the money is recovered and the thief is a nobody It doesn’t sell papers The real story here is about a man whose vision and hand work have produced a small miracle — the opening of a city’s stone heart and padlocked purse in support of a cause that might not gain a single politician a single vote in the next election Besides, what point is there in writing about something that would serve no other purpose than to muddy up such beautiful, pristine waters?” Andrew Wren picked up his briefcase and donned his cloth cap “Someday, I’ll be back for the story of your life The real story, the one you won’t talk about just yet Meantime, go back to work on what matters Just remember, for the record, you owe me one, Simon.” Then he walked out the door, leaving the Wizard of Oz staring after him in bemused wonder Nest Freemark spent the first day of November travelling After spending another night at the Alexis, she caught a mid morning flight to Chicago, which arrived shortly before four in the afternoon She had debated returning to Northwestern for the one remaining day of the school week and quickly abandoned the idea She was tired, jittery, and haunted by the events of the past few days, and not fit company for herself, let alone anyone else Her studies and her training would have to wait Instead, she chartered a car to pick her up at the airport and drive her to Hopewell What she needed most, she decided, was to just go home She slept most of the way there, on the airplane and in the car, curled up in the warmth of her parka, drifting in and out of a light, uneasy sleep that mixed dreams with memories, so that by the time her journey was over, with daylight gone and darkness returned, with Seattle behind her and Hopewell at hand, they seemed very much the same Nest, as a part of Wraith, as a part of a magic different from anything she knew, returned slowly to herself on the empty walkway in Waterfall Park She felt the magic withdraw and her vision change She felt Wraith slip silently away on the night breeze She stood swaying in the wake of his departure, feeling as if she had returned from along journey She drew in deep gulps of air, the cold burning down into her lungs, sending a rush of adrenaline through her body and sharp-edged clarity to her dizzied head Oh, my God, my God she whispered soundlessly, and she hugged herself against the first onslaught of wistful despair John Ross turned from the demon’s remains and limped to her side He reached for her, drew her into the cradle of his arms, and held her close Nest, it’s alright, he whispered into her hair, stroking it softly, comfortingly It’s all over It’s finished Did you see? Did you see what happened She gasped, broke down, and could not finish He nodded quickly I know I saw it begin at the museum It didn’t happen there, but I saw that it could Wraith is inside you, Nest You said he just walked into you and was done, that last time you saw him It’s like Pick said Magic doesn’t just cease to exist It takes another form It becomes something else Don’t you see? Wraith has become a part of you She was shaking now, enraged and despairing But I don’t want him inside me He’s got nothing to with me! He belongs to my father! Her head jerked up violently John, what if my father’s come back to claim me What if Wraith is some part of him trying to reach out to me still! No no, he said at once, holding her away from him., bracing her shoulders with his strong hands He released the black staff, and it clattered to the concrete His eyes held her own Listen to me, Nest Wraith wasn’t your father’s He was never that He saved you from your father, remember? Gran made him over with her own magic to protect you He was yours He belonged to you The lean, weathered face bent close Perhaps he’s only done what be was supposed to When you became of age and strong enough to look after yourself, perhaps his job as your protector was finished Where does magic go when it has served its purpose and not been fully expended? It goes back to its owner To serve as needed So maybe, he whispered, Wraith has just come home She spent every waking moment of her journey back to Hopewell wrestling with that concept Wraith had come home To her To become part of her The idea was terrifying It left her grappling with the prospect that at any moment she might jump out of her skin Literally It made her feel as if she was a character out of Alien, waiting for that repulsive little head to thrust out of her stomach, all teeth and blood But the image was wrongly conceived, and after a while it diminished and faded, giving way to a more practical concern How could she control this new found magic? It didn’t seem as if she had done much of a job so far What was to prevent it from reappearing again without warning, from jeopardising her in ways she couldn’t even begin to imagine? Then she realised this image was wrongheaded, as well, that Wraith’s magic had lived inside her for a long time before it had surfaced What had triggered its appearance last night was the presence of other magic, first the magic of John Ross and then the magic of the demon She remembered how strangely she had felt that first day at Fresh Start, then later that night in Lincoln Park, both times when she was in close proximity to the demon She hadn’t understood that it was Wraith’s magic, threatening to break free But in each instance, his magic was simply responding to the perceived threat another magic offered Realising that gave her some comfort, but she still struggled with the idea that the big ghost wolf was locked inside her — not just as magic, but as the creature in which the magic had been lodged Why did it still exist in that form? It wasn’t until she was almost home, the lights of the first cluster of outlying residences breaking through the evening darkness, that she decided she might still be misreading things In the absence of direction, magic took the form with which it was most familiar It didn’t act independently of its user Pick had taught her that a long time ago, when he was instructing her on the care of the park If Wraith had still been whole, still her shadow protector, he would have come to her defence instinctively It was not strange to think that bereft of form and independent existence, his magic would still so After all, the magic had been given to her in the first place, hadn’t it? And in making its unexpected appearance, absent any direction from her, was it surprising it would assume the same form it had occupied for so many years? What was harder for her to reconcile, she discovered, was that in seeking its release it had required her to become one with it She rode through the streets of Hopewell, slumped in the darkness of the car’s rear seat, curled into the cushions like a rag doll, looking out at the night She would be a long time coming to terms with this, she knew She found herself wondering, somewhat perversely, if the Lady had known about Wraith in sending her to John Ross She wondered if she had been sent with the expectation that in aiding Ross she would discover this new truth about herself It was not inconceivable Any contact with a strong magic would have released Wraith from his safehold inside her Knowledge of his continued existence was something Nest would have had to come to grips with sooner or later The Lady might have believed it was better she so now As they passed the Menards and the Farm and Fleet, she gave the driver directions to her house She sat contemplating the tangled threads of her life, of what was known and what was not, until the car turned into her driveway and parked She climbed out, retrieved her bag, signed the driver’s receipt, said good-bye, and walked into the house It was dark and silent inside, but the smells and shadows of the hallways and rooms were familiar and welcome She turned on some lights, dropped her bags in the living room, and walked back to the kitchen to fix herself a sandwich from a jar of peanut butter and last week’s bread She sat eating at the kitchen table, where Gran had spent most of her time in her last years, and she thought of John Ross She wondered where he was She wondered how much success he was having at coming to terms with the truths in his life He had not said much when they parted He thanked her, standing there in the shadowy confines of Waterfall Park, his breath billowing out in smoky clouds as the cold deepened He would never forget what she had done for him He hoped she could forgive him for what he had done to her, five years earlier She said there was nothing to forgive She told him she was sorry about Stefanie She told him she knew a little of how he must feel He smiled at that If anyone did, it was she, he agreed Did he feel trapped by being what he was? What was it like to be a Knight of the Word and realise your life could never change? She had not told him of Two Bears Of the reason O’olish Amaneh had come to Seattle for Halloween Of the terrible responsibility the last of the Sinnissippi bore for having given him the Word’s magic She finished the sandwich and a glass of milk and carried her dishes to the sink The contracts for the sale of the house still sat on the kitchen counter She glanced down at them, picked them up, and carried them to the table She sat down again and read them through carefully In the hallway, the grandfather clack ticked steadily When she was finished reading, she set the contracts down in front of her and stared off into space What we have in life that we can count our own is who we are and where we come from, she thought absently For better or worse, that’s what we have to sustain us in our endeavours, to buttress us in our darker moments, and to remind us of our identity Without those things, we are adrift Her gaze shifted to the darkness outside the kitchen window John Ross must feel that way now He must feel that way even day of his life It was what he gave up when he became a Knight of the Word It was what he lost when he discovered the truth about Stefanie Winslow She listened to the silence that backdropped the ticking of the clock After a long time, she picked up the real estate contracts, walked to the garbage can, and dropped them in Moving to the phone, she dialled Robert at Stanford She listened to four rings, and then his voice mail picked up At the beep, she said, “Hey, Robert, its me.” She was still looking out the window into the dark “I just wanted to let you know that I’m home again Call me Bye.” She up, stood looking around her at the house for a moment, then walked back down the hallway, pulled on her parka, and went out into the cold, crisp autumn ought to find Pick It was just after four in the morning when John Ross woke from his dream He lay staring into the empty blackness of his room for a long time, his breathing and his heartbeat slowing as he came back to himself On the street outside his open window he could hear a truck rumble by It was the first dream he had experienced since he had resumed being a Knight of the Word As always, it was a dream of the future that would come to pass if he failed to change things in the present But it felt new because it was his first such dream in a long time Except for the dream of the old man and the Wizard of Oz, of course, but he did not think he would be having that dream anymore He closed his eyes momentarily to gather his thoughts, to let the tension and the fury of this night’s dream ease In the dream, he had been stripped of his magic, as he knew he would be, because he had chosen to expend his magic in the present, and when he made that choice, the price was always the same For the span of one night’s sleep, there was no magic to protect him in the future He often wondered how long the loss of magic lasted in real time He could not tell, for he was given only a glimpse of what was to be before he came awake If he used the magic often enough in the present, he sometimes wondered, would he at some point lose the use of it completely in the future? His eyes opened, and he exhaled slowly In his dream, he had run through woods at the edge of a nameless town He had a vague sense of being hunted by his enemies, of being tracked like an animal He had a sense of being at extreme risk, bereft of any real protection, exposed to attack from all quarters without being able to offer a defence, at a loss as to where he might go to gain safety He moved swiftly through the darkened trees, using stealth and silence to aid him in his flight He tried to make himself one with the landscape in which he sought to hide He burrowed into the earth along ditches and ravines, crawled through brush and long grasses, and edged from trunk to trunk, pressing himself so closely to the terrain he traversed that he could feel and smell its detritus on his skin There was a river, and he swam it There were cornfields, and he crept down their rows as if navigating a maze that, if misread, would trap him for all time He did not see or hear his pursuers, but he knew they were back there They would always be back there When he awoke in the present, he was still running to stay alive in the future He rose now and picked up the black staff from where it lay beside the bed He limped over to the window, leaning heavily on the staff, and stood for a time looking down at the street He was in Portland He had come down on the train early this morning and spent the day walking the riverfront and the streets of the city When he was so tired he could no longer stay awake, he had taken this room Thoughts of Stefanie Winslow crowded suddenly into the forefront of his mind He let them push forward, unhindered Less painful now than yesterday, they would be less painful still tomorrow It was odd, but he still thought of her as human, maybe because it made thinking of her at all more bearable Memories of a year’s time spent with someone you loved couldn’t be expunged all at once The memories, he found, were bittersweet and haunting They marked a rite of passage he could not ignore If not for Stefanie, he would have no sense of what his life might have been were he not a Knight of the Word And in an odd sort of wy, he was better off for knowing It gave him perspective on the worth of what he was doing by revealing what he had given up He studied the empty street as if it held answers he could not otherwise find He might have been a decent sort of man in an ordinary life He might have done well over the years working with Simon Lawrence on the programs at Fresh Start and Pass/Go He might have made a difference in the lives of other people But never the kind of difference he would make as a Knight of the Word His eyes drifted from empty doorway to empty doorway, through shadows and lights He had been wrong in thinking that successes alone were the measure of his worth in the Word’s service He had been wrong in fleeing his mistakes as if they marked him a failure It was not as simple as that All men and women experienced successes and failures, and their tally at death was not necessarily determinative of ones worth in life This was true, as well, for a Knight of the Word It was trying that mattered more It was the giving of effort and heart that lent value It was the making of sacrifices Ray Hapgood had said it best Someone has to take responsibility Someone has to be there That was the real reason he was a Knight of the Word Such a hard lesson, in retrospect, but Stefanie Winslow had taught him well the price for not understanding it He thought back to last night When he left Nest, he had gone back up to the apartment to write Simon a short note of explanation and a letter of authorisation for transfer of the misplaced funds He had packed his duffel bag, then packed Stefanie’s suitcases, removing everything of a personal nature from the apartment Tossing the wooden desk chair out the window to provide an explanation for the glass breakage had been an afterthought He had taken the note and authorisation, put them in an envelope, and carried them over to Pass/Go Then he had gone down to the train station with his duffel and Stefanie’s bags in hand to wait for the six-ten commuter When he reached Portland, he disembarked and dumped Stefanie’s bags in a Dumpster not a block away from the station He turned away from the window and looked around the little room He wondered how Nest Freemark was doing She had come to Seattle to help him, to give him a chance he might not otherwise have gotten, and it had cost her a great deal He was sorry for that, but he did not think it his fault The Lady had sent her, knowing to some extent the likely result The Lady had planed her in a dangerous situation, knowing she would be forced to use her magic and would discover the truth about Wraith It would have happened at another time in another place if not here And it had saved his life It did not make him feel better knowing this But recognising truths seldom achieved that result anyway He thought about how much alike they were, both of them gifted with magic that dominated their lives, both of them pressed into service by an entity they would never fully understand or perhaps ever satisfy They were outsiders in a world that lacked any real comprehension of their service, and they would struggle on mostly alone and largely unappreciated until their lives were ended There was one glaring difference, of course In his case, the choice to be what he was had been his In hers, it had not He went into the bathroom, showered and shaved, and came out again and dressed in the light of the bedside lamp When he was finished, he packed his duffel bag, He went downstairs to the lobby, dropped his key on the desk, and walked out Sunrise was brightening the eastern sky, a faint, soft glow against the departing night The day was just beginning By nightfall John Ross would be in another town, looking to make a change in the way the world was going His dreams would begin to tell him again what he could that would make a difference It wasn’t the worst sort of way to live one’s life In his case, he concluded hopefully, perhaps it was the best ... way The Word has already tried reason and persuasion and has failed The Void will try another approach A Knight who has lost his faith is susceptible to the Void s treachery and deceit The Void. .. that civilisation was on the verge of extinction The Void had gained ascendancy over the Word, good had lost the eternal struggle against evil, and humanity had become a pathetic shadow of the. .. had become a Knight of the Word, his disintegration began with a dream His dreams were always of the future, a future grim and horrific, one where the balance of magic had shifted so dramatically